Luka's Journey: Year 1
by Pippy-tan
Summary: Luka, a demigod child of Athena, has runaway from home and stumbles into Camp Half-Blood. Follow her adventures as she discovers her unheard-of powers! Rated T for Luka's potty mouth. Special thanks to my unofficial beta, Kur8Kami117, who is basically co-authoring this. Thanks! :)


**A/N- This is the first chapter of my first fanfic! :D This has spoilers to Kur8Kami117's fanfic, _Blitzkrieg: Lightning War. _No flames please! They are wimpy and useless compared to Ignite's! (He appears in later chapters.) This takes place after _Heroes of Olympus._**

**Disclaimer- I no own Percy Jackson and the awesomeness that is Annabeth! Thistle belongs to Kur8Kami117. She is my big sister and is awesome!**

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Luka trudged down the abandoned sidewalk. Her black, red, and silver trench coat-hoodie drifted in the small breeze, billowing out over her small, slouching shoulders. Black lace-up boots sloshed in the rain, her eyes downcast and staring blankly through a shoulder length curtain of pitch black hair at the ripples darting across the puddles. Her eyes, instead of being good little orbs and picking a single color like every sane eyeball should, could be blue one minute and green the next. Then they'd get tired of that and switch to purple, or even red every now and then. It all depended on her ever-changing moods. At this particular moment, they had settled for a steely blue, the same color as the cracked iPod.

The iPod came from a spoiled rich brat who had given it to her. Not to be generous or anything; he had cracked it and decided it would be better to have the latest version anyway. He had just handed it to her without a second thought. Despite its wealthy beginnings, the iPod was hers now, blurting out musical whispers to her mind through tiny earbuds. She hummed along softly to "Let's See How Far We've Come."

_ Oh, the irony._ Before she could stop herself, her mind drifted back to the days she had spent with her 'father,' not that the bastard ever deserved to be called that word from her lips.

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As Prospero from _The Tempest_ said, bad sons could be born from good mothers, or something along those lines. Her case was the opposite.

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Luka was only five when she ran away; now she was ten. She had endured five years of solitude. She'd make a friend every now and then; one family had even considered adopting her. She had refused; she must keep moving. She had already traveled from her small home in South Carolina to Long Island. She had already traveled over two hundred miles since she was five.

Her first five years were spent living in a small house in the outskirts of South Carolina in stunted growth beneath the shadow of her oh-so-perfect older sister, Thistle. The sisters shared their house with the man calling himself a 'father' and the constant negapresence of her invisible mom. Thistle was two years older than Luka, and, in their 'father's' opinion, a million years smarter. She was a perfect prodigy child who memorized all the dinosaurs when she was a toddler and read science books for fun. She never received anything lower than the occasional A- on a report card; Luka was still struggling to remember which hand was the left at the end of kindergarten, though it didn't really matter since she was ambidextrous.

Luka sighed. Her dad wanted to turn her into a Thistle-clone. The horrors… Not that Luka didn't love Thistle (she did very much), but she had a funny way of showing it. Thistle called it 'tsundere,' some word she must have read in a foreign language encyclopedia or something.

'Father' yelled at Luka for every mistake she made, every miniscule infraction, every microscopic flaw. Thistle never got yelled at; 'Father' would gently correct her, few times as that ever happened, and proceed to send her on her merry way to memorizing the periodic table or writing in Chinese or whatnot. Luka got sent to the path of "Why can't you be more like Thistle?" or "Thistle was more advanced than you at this age!" The last straw fell upon her head on a rainy summer afternoon when she overheard her 'father' on the phone.

"Yes, I'll send her over." A pause. "You can keep her all year, she's too much trouble for me." Another pause, longer this time. "No, I don't think she's smart enough to be one. Check if you must; I honestly don't give a care."

_He's talking about ME, _she thought. She darted into the haven of her room and frantically gathered her meager belongings into her tattered black school bag. Thistle walked in as she was emptying her change out of a piggy bank.

"Watcha doing?" she asked curiously. Luka didn't reply. "Hey, don't ignore me! Are you mad at me or something? What's wrong?" she pouted.

Luka finished packing and headed to the door. Thistle blocked the way. "Tell me where you're going!" she demanded. Now, Luka was pissed.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she shouted, imagining Thistle chained to a chair with duct tape over her mouth. To her horror, the vision became reality, only worse; Thistle was not only duct taped and tied up but also unconscious and bleeding from the head. Luka screamed.

_Did I do that? Is she dead? What have I done?_

"WHAT'S GOING ON UP THERE?!" screamed her 'father' from downstairs, his voice cutting into Luka's tornado of questions. She ran quickly to the back door, never looking back, not knowing if Thistle was okay. Hot tears streamed down her face as she darted out the door into the great unknown.

_Dammit. This is why I never dwell in the past; I only end up hurting myself._

Luka continued her journey, oblivious of where it would soon lead her.

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**A/N- More chapters coming soon! :3**


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